


Life Worth Living

by Azar



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/Azar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Duncan's second attempt on his life, a new friend helps Richie learn to trust again. Alternate Universe take on Season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Duncan, Joe, Haresh Clay, Carter Wellan and any dialogue from the Highlander episode, "The End of Innocence," belong to Panzer/Davis Productions. Richie Ryan was adopted by Clan Denial because of character abuse, and any characters you don't recognize belong to me. Spoiler warning for the fourth season episode, "Something Wicked," and the fifth season episode "The End of Innocence." Thanks to Rhoni Lake, with apologies for taking the words right out of her mouth (you know which ones). Also to my co-conspirator, Debbie Chilson, her niece, Missy, and all the Georges in my life, to my Clansibs in Denial, without whose inspiration this story would never have come to be, to my wonderfully exacting beta-reader, the incomparable, irreplaceable AC MacFru, and to Stan Kirsch, for making Richie "real."
> 
> This was originally going to be the first installment in a series that would've ultimately ended with a) Richie not dying and b) a creative alternate resolution for the Game, but unfortunately for a variety of reasons that don't bear going into, the rest just...never got written. So I apologize for the cliffhanger of sorts that this one ends on, but if it helps, things would've turned out all right in the end. :-)

> There was a time  
> I was everything and nothing all at once  
> When you found me  
> I was feeling like a cloud across the sun  
> \--Elton John, "The Way You Look Tonight"

  


> "Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead?"  
> \--Luke 11:11

 

**Gerardo's Mexican Cantina  
Just outside Seacouver **

They carded him. The stupid bastards carded him.

Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised, since his physical age was permanently halted at nineteen. Still, the fact grated on him, and he'd been a little brusque with the bartenders once they'd satisfied themselves with his driver's license and asked him what he wanted to drink. He didn't even remember what he'd ordered now, except that it was the strongest thing on the menu.

With a rueful laugh at that, he threw his head back and drained the last gulp of the concoction. Funny...back in his juvenile delinquent days, drinking--especially hard liquor--had been a thrill, each scorching mouthful a naughty pleasure. Now he wondered if maybe the sole appeal of the thing had been its illegality; since turning twenty-one he had suddenly found the taste of strong alcohol mildly revolting, especially stuff like this that had to be close to a hundred proof. But if he could only drink enough to make himself forget, it might be worth the vile taste in his mouth.

The memory still hung there though, as vivid as anything that had happened to him since a mugger's bullet introduced him prematurely to Immortality. Now, under the haze of alcohol, it actually seemed more real than when it had been happening.

Mac had tried to kill him. Mac, with that evil glint in his eye that had made Richie turn cold in terror, had held the katana to his student's throat, and would have struck if Joe hadn't shot him.

_("Is it because there can be only one? Is that it?") _

_("That's as good a reason as any.") _

He shivered and gestured for the bartender to pour him another glass.

He didn't even remember leaving the Dojo, only hazy images of his betrayer lying there on the floor, the death-wound that Joe had inflicted on Mac slowly closing, with the Watcher begging the shaken younger Immortal to flee. So, he'd fled, carrying nothing with him but his rapier and the dreadful, numbing pain.

Damn the Highlander. Damn him for turning his world upside down just as he'd begun to accept it as stable. Damn him to eternal hell for twisting the hard-earned trust the two of them had built into a razor-sharp weapon to hold against his protégé's throat.

A familiar but newly harsh sensation swept through Richie's mind, tensing every one of the six hundred three muscles in his body and setting every nerve on edge. Never again, he swore silently. Never again would he trust another of his kind. Kill or be killed, that was the watchword of Immortality, and he'd never believed in it more fervently than at that moment.

She was watching him from across the bar, a beautiful woman a little reminiscent of Annie Devlin, who had almost been his first Immortal kill. He had spared the Irishwoman's life, unable to take it from her because he could see the reckless pain behind her challenge, and knew it didn't deserve such a consequence. She'd been lucky--he'd never err on the side of mercy again.

But there was something different about the woman who regarded him now. Her hair was a darker red, and there was a shape to her features that marked them as distinctly non-Gaelic. She was old, that he could tell just by looking at her even though she appeared to be in her twenties. She had that same wise air that surrounded all the Immortals he knew who had survived more than a few centuries...except for maybe Amanda.

Ire rising in him, Richie dropped his last twenty on the bar, picked up his helmet, and stalked out, brushing roughly past the woman as he left. He made no effort to impress her, didn't bother to worry whether he would inspire a challenge. He wanted her to challenge him.

Gerardo watched the young man stagger out, breathing a deep sigh. "_Dios_, I don't wanna see where that one sleeps tonight! _Está muy borracho_!"

The redhead nodded, rubbing her shoulder thoughtfully where he had pushed past her. Her eyes followed the angry departing figure. "Don't worry, Jerry," she reassured the bartender in a soft voice. "I'll take care of him."

******

By the time Richie reached his bike, the sensation had faded, letting him know she hadn't followed him. Or, at least, if she had, she was keeping her distance.

Now even angrier, he lifted the helmet from the handlebars and stared at it for a moment before heaving it drunkenly into the little cadre of trashcans behind the bar. It hit them with a loud crash, spilling two cans over in opposite directions like magnets with matching charges. He threw one leg over the seat, gunned the ignition, and rumbled off too fast in the direction of the freeway.

Unfortunately, he forgot to turn onto the road, instead cutting a zigzag line through the gravel on the other side. A little creative steering brought him back onto the pavement, but his direction remained unsteady and his bike uncomfortably close to the edge.

He lifted his head a moment later just in time to see himself careening towards a large tree that seemed to be the only piece of vegetation anywhere near the road. Swearing, he swerved the bike mightily to the right.

The motorcycle followed his last-minute command. His body didn't.

Instead, he felt inertia tear his hands from the handlebars as he continued on course straight into the tree with the same momentum as the motorcycle now skidding in the opposite direction. The actual impact was anticlimactic.

The last thing he was aware of before he slipped into the all-too-familiar darkness was the faint buzz of an approaching Immortal. His last thought was that this time, he might not wake.

******

**later… **

That now familiar sensation called her out of her memories with the awareness that her young charge was coming back to life. The song she had been humming died in her throat and she turned back to the bed, just as the body on it jerked awake.

The younger Immortal's eyes snapped open as awareness rushed over him. Instantly cognizant of his vulnerability, he sat up, only to find a small but insistent hand clamping down on his shoulder.

"Whoa, slow down, George," she scolded with laughter in her voice. "It's not a race."

With a hoarse cry he pulled that shoulder away, pivoting towards her in the process. She smiled warmly and let her arm drop, not at all offended by his edginess.

Well, duh, she wasn't offended, Richie thought as he recognized the other Immortal from the bar. He groped at the sheets beside him, his searching hands confirming what he'd already suspected--he was unarmed. He had every right to be edgy, since he was totally at her mercy.

A sad but knowing smile traced his keeper's face. "It's on the trunk at the foot of the bed. I knew you'd want it within reach, but I didn't want you rolling over and impaling yourself on it when you woke up. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of white sheets?"

A little dumbfounded, Richie scrambled to the end of the bed and found his rapier resting on an old but well-preserved steamer trunk. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, he raised it before him, keeping the blade between himself and the other Immortal.

"You're blessed you didn't break it on that little flight," she continued calmly.

He grimaced, the accident flashing into his mind. God, how could he have been so stupid? And his bike--

"My bike!"

She gestured behind her. "Outside."

"Is it--?"

"It could use a few repairs, but it actually fared better than you did, George." She smirked. "Too bad *it* isn't Immortal."

Richie smiled, but only for a moment. Vivid, grim memories of Duncan's betrayal still hung like curtains across his mind and when he turned his blue eyes back to his rescuer, they were indigo with distrust and suspicion. "Why are you doing this?"

She sighed and crossed the room to a large window hung with thick plush curtains, thrusting them open with a sharp motion. "I realize how upset you were when you left...I saw it in your eyes...but you still shouldn't have been quite so careless. Playing 'Hug-a-Tree' within sight and hearing range of a busy bar...it's not exactly the best way to keep your Immortality a secret." Turning back to face him, she crossed her arms and regarded him with curious sympathy. "If I hadn't offered to 'drive you to the hospital myself,' you probably would have woken up in the back of an ambulance."

Richie inclined his head in reluctant acknowledgment. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, George."

"What--? My name's not George, why do you keep calling me that?"

She smirked again. "Haven't you seen 'George of the Jungle'?"

He blinked.

"'Watch out for that tree?'"

The younger Immortal proceeded to turn a shade of scarlet that Miss O'Hara would have been proud to claim as her namesake. His grip on the blade wilted a little. "Oh."

His rescuer chuckled softly. "Of course, if I had something else to call you..."

"Richie," he offered after a moment of silent debate. "My name's Richie Ryan."

She stuck out a hand, which he warily accepted. "Chaya bat Avraham, although I go by Chaya Abrams. It takes less explaining."

"Chaya?"

"It's Hebrew. It means 'life.'"

"What about the other part?"

"'Daughter of Abraham.'"

"Whoa! *The* Abraham?"

"No, though I am a Jew, as they call us now. Avraham ben Tarah had two sons, Ismail and Yitzhak, and no daughters, not even by adoption. The man I called my father was named after the Patriarch."

"Oh. So how old *are* you?"

Chaya shook her head with a little smile. "Don't you know it's impolite to ask a woman her age?"

"Sorry."

"It's okay--I'm actually rather pleased that you're perceptive enough to ask. Most male Immortals tend to assume that because I'm a woman, I can't have survived very long."

Richie nodded. "So, now that you've rescued me from my own stupidity, now what?"

"Well, I'd suggest you stay here for a few days. At least long enough not to raise suspicions if any witnesses see you walking around without a scratch on you."

He shook his head, his own suspicions rising again and his voice turning bitter. "It doesn't matter. I'm leaving town anyway."

The older Immortal studied him, recognizing the hurt of betrayal in his voice. "What happened?" she asked softly. "Why were you trying your damnedest in that bar to get me to fight you?"

The young Immortal pinned his lower lip between his teeth. "I..."

Reading his reluctance, Chaya let the subject drop with a silent nod and circled around the bed to the door. Maybe later, if and when she won his trust.

"It's getting late, so you're welcome to sleep here if you want. If you're leaving town like this, with only the clothes on your back..." she smiled sadly at him. "I don't imagine you have anywhere else to stay."

Richie shook his head. "No...I guess I don't."

"I know you don't trust me right now...you don't have any reason to yet...but you will be safe here tonight."

He noticed with a touch of curiosity that she didn't make the statement a promise. Oddly enough, that made him trust it a bit more. Promises were too often broken.

He nodded again. "Thank you."

******

**The next morning **

_I must be dreaming,_ Richie decided when he awoke to a decidedly alluring aroma. He rolled over in the bed Chaya had loaned him, feeling for his rapier. He was relieved to find it still where he had sheathed it between the mattress and the headboard.

Satisfied that she had kept her word, even though she'd never given it, he sat up, grimacing at the thought of putting back on his bloody shirt from the night before. A glance at the chair beside the bed, however, revealed a brand new green flannel shirt sitting neatly folded on top of a pair of brand new jeans. The ruined clothes he had discarded last night had vanished, except for the boxers, which he had worn to bed. He ran a thumb under the waistband of those, grateful that they were black and thus didn't show the bloodstains.

A still sleepy little part of his mind marveled that he was not more suspicious of the clothes, but more of him rejected the idea of facing his hostess with nothing but boxers and his sword. So, he slipped into the jeans and pulled the shirt over his head, fastening the last few buttons with one hand as he wandered out of the guest room where he had been staying and, like a coon hound, followed the trail of the scent until he discovered her kitchen.

The house--he had quickly surmised during his journey that it was a house, not an apartment--was well-furnished, but modest enough that it would not look terribly inappropriate for a woman of twenty-four, which was about the age Chaya appeared. He wondered what sort of occupation she kept to explain her standard of living, or whether she just attributed it all to an well-invested inheritance from a dead relative.

That train of thought didn't last long, though, once he spotted the source of the scent he'd been tracking in a flat cardboard box on the kitchen table. Crossing the room to it, he set his sword on the table and had one hand on the lid when the buzz alerted him to the return of his hostess. He snatched his hand back just as she entered the room with an extra chair.

Chaya laughed. "Go ahead, don't let it get cold."

He grinned, forgetting to be leery of her for a moment. "I thought I was going crazy when I woke up smelling pepperoni pizza."

She returned the grin. "It's been my experience that the traditional breakfast foods of the past few centuries are not necessarily the best ones. I took a chance you'd agree with me."

"About this century, yeah. I don't know much about any others, except what Ma--" His smile instantly faded. "What some other Immortals have told me about them."

The redhead grimaced at his change in mood. "I was right, then. You're young."

He sighed. "Twenty-three. Is it that obvious?"

"Not to everyone. I've just had a lot of experience with every age. And actually..." She smiled. "I've met sixty-year olds who were less mature than you, so I wasn't entirely on the mark."

Her guest looked startled for a moment, then diverted his attention back to the pizza. "Isn't this against your religion or something?" he indicated the toppings.

Chaya smiled and seated herself at the table in the chair she'd brought in, reaching for a piece herself. "Technically, yes. I keep Kosher most of the time, but Y'shua commanded Kefa once in a vision to eat anything set before him at a Gentile's table, and Sha'ul later wrote that Followers of the Way were not bound to any traditions that might cause a fellow to stumble. So I eat like a Goy when I'm with one."

"When in Rome, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Just one question--"

"What?"

"Actually, make that several questions. Who's Yashewa, who's Kayfa, who's Shahool and who are the Followers of the Way?"

"Y'shua, Kefa, and Sha'ul," she corrected with a merry laugh. "You're probably more familiar with the names Jesus, Peter, and Paul. Anglicized from the Latin versions of the Greek versions of the Hebrew names. Followers of the Way...well, we were most closely tied to what you would call Christians today, although many of the people who have called themselves that over the centuries don't know or care a thing about what Y'shua actually taught."

"Wait a second--I thought you were Jewish."

"I still am, George," she teased him.

"But didn't you just say you were a Christian?"

"Most of the first 'Christians' were Jewish, Richie. Sha'ul was actually considered a bit of a renegade by some because he dared to take the message to Gentiles. Y'shua was our Rabbi, our Messiah--what right did they have to him?"

"You sound like you were there."

She nodded. "I was. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that Y'shua was not one of us. I saw him die, and I saw him after his Resurrection. He wasn't an Immortal. He was...and is...exactly who he said he was, the Messiah the Prophets foretold."

Collecting his jaw from where it had landed after her calm statement that she had been around two thousand years ago to meet the founder of one of the world's most prominent religions, Richie exercised it with effort to chew thoughtfully on his second piece of pizza. The first piece had disappeared sometime earlier in the conversation.

"You know," he finally managed after swallowing a bite. "I think you're the oldest Immortal I've ever met."

Chaya grinned wryly. "Thanks."

"Aw, sheesh. I'm not doing very well with this age thing, am I?"

"I'll chalk it up to stress and forgive you for now," she bantered back.

After a moment though, as they continued to eat in silence, the merriness faded from her eyes and was replaced by a pensiveness that made him nervous.

"Richie..." she asked hesitantly. "Do you know someone who fights with a katana? A fancy one with an ivory hilt?"

The younger Immortal choked, feeling the cold blade of the weapon she had just described once again at his throat. "How do you know that?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"It's someone you've fought," she continued. "Twice. Once, he backed down and let you live, and once, someone interfered. A mortal."

He stood, his chair falling to the floor with a loud clatter. "How the hell do you know about that??" he demanded again, aiming the blade of the rapier at her as all his fears came back in a rush.

Seeming unconcerned by his threatening posture, Chaya bent down to set the chair back on its feet, giving him for a moment a jarringly clear opportunity to take her head. Richie just stared, bewildered, as the moment passed.

Then she stood too, holding up a hand to calm him and raising eyes to his that knew very well what she had just done. "I dreamt it, last night. I saw your sword attacked by the same katana...twice. The first time, it pulled away. The second time...it was blocked by a cane."

His face white, Richie sank back into his seat and stared at the pizza.

"I have the gift of prophecy," she explained softly. "Like Dani'el or Yosef. Sometimes I dream, and sometimes Adonai gives me the interpretation for someone else's. I've had this dream before, but not until last night did I recognize the sword as yours."

After several moments more of silence, Richie finally forced out "He was my teacher."

Chaya looked sick. "Your teacher? Your teacher tried to take your head? Twice??"

The young man nodded miserably. "The first time...some psychic 'friend' of his was giving him nightmares, hallucinations. He was basically sleepwalking, and when I shouted at him what he was doing he woke up and backed off. And he made me promise if it ever happened again, to do whatever I had to in order to survive. I told him I could never kill him." His eyes darkened almost to black with pain and anger and hate as his hands tightened into fists. "Now I could."

His hostess watched him, still a little numb. _So then why was it my sword I saw deflect his blow the third time?_ "The cane I saw?"

"It belongs to a mortal friend of mine, who saved my life by shooting…my teacher. He walks with a cane because he lost both of his legs in Vietnam."

She left the silence between them, allowing it to slip in and provide its own mute comfort before reaching in with a quiet voice to give a bit of her own.

"Oy, Richie, I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

> A cold and friendless time has found you  
> Don't let the stormy darkness pull you down  
> I'll paint a ray of hope around you  
> Circling in the air  
> Lighted by a prayer  
> \--"Candle on the Water"

  


> Pray for the peace of Jerusalem:  
> May those who love you be secure.  
> \--Psalm 122:6

**Outside the Manna and Quail Mediterranean Restaurant  
Later that week **

"So, this is how you explain owning a house," Richie joked as the navy-blue Ford Contour pulled up before the restaurant, a small adobe building with a vine-covered wooden grape arbor leading to the door. Two swarthy middle-aged men were standing in the shade of the arbor, one turning a key in the lock while the other looked up and waved.

Chaya smiled, waving in return as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "I've learned, over time, to make the most of what I know in ways that fit my 'age.' Teaching--except at the elementary and high school level--tends to make people a little suspicious these days." She opened the door and turned to him. "Coming?"

"Sure."

The two Immortals climbed out of the car and crossed the parking lot to the door, which the shorter of the two men had just finished unlocking. He turned to face them with a smile.

"Ah! So, finally we learn the real reason you won't open for breakfast!"

She laughed lightly. "Good morning, boys."

Richie could tell by the sparkle in the eyes of the two men that her addressing them as "boys" was a private joke between the three. He smiled. _Wonder what they'd say if they knew? _

"So, who's this? Your new puppy?" the other of the two asked, still grinning.

"I guess you could say that." Chaya smirked. "He is a stray I found--over by Jerry's." She took the younger man by the elbow and drew him forward. "This is Richie Ryan. I'm letting him borrow my guestroom until he can find a job and a place of his own. Richie, I'd like you to meet the two best Middle Eastern chefs no longer in the Middle East, Yitzhak Levy and Ismail Baddour. Otherwise known as the Patriarchs of the Manna and Quail."

"Good to meet you, Pup," Baddour commented with an impish smile. The three men shook hands.

Levy grinned as well. "He's not like your usual strays, Emah. Are you sure this one's not finally teaching you the joys of the flesh?"

Chaya just shook her head with an amused smile.

Richie grinned mischievously. "Not for lack of trying!"

His hostess raised one questioning eyebrow at him and the younger man shrugged while the two chefs guffawed.

"Boys, why don't we save the rest of this little would-be drama until after we're ready to open for the day?" Chaya turned back to the two men with a scolding smile. "I don't want customers queuing up outside the door. Besides, we already provide the waitstaff with entertainment enough." She gestured towards the open door, and the two men nearly bounced through it, still chuckling at their own humor. Richie started to follow them, but was stopped by her hand tightening on his arm, pulling him close.

"Remind me," she breathed in his ear, her voice still tinged with amusement, "to inquire someday how you managed to erase my memory of this 'trying' of yours."

She released him then, and the younger Immortal watched her disappear into the kitchen, grateful that she didn't turn back to see the blush that he could feel creeping into his cheeks.

When he got the temperature of his skin tone back under control, he followed the other three into the back. By this time, the waitstaff was beginning to seep in. Chaya introduced them all briefly to him before slipping out to check on the day's shipment of foodstuffs for the kitchen.

"Anything I can do to help?" Richie offered. Levy smiled and a moment later an apron hit the younger man in the face. He plucked it off his head with a lopsided grin. "What's this for?"

"You want to help--the sink's right over there."

"You want me to wash dishes?"

Baddour shrugged with false innocence. "Good practice for when you get married."

"Right." The young man threw them a playful glance as he slipped the apron over his head. "I'll have you two know I'm not *getting* married."

The two chefs exchanged a paternal smile. "Someday you will, Pup. Someday."

The other nodded. "When the right woman comes along. Just wait a few years."

Richie just shook his head quietly, his eyes shining as he fought a smirk. _Don't map out my life just yet, guys. I guarantee I won't meet your expectations. _

******

**Two hours later... **

"Hey, Pup, you want to know something funny?"

Richie grinned, looking up from his sinkfull of dishwater. "Sure. What?"

Baddour returned the grin. "You know that cartoon movie of Aladdin that came out a couple of years ago?"

He nodded with a nostalgic smile. "Yeah. An old friend took me to see it the year it came out--she said Aladdin reminded her of me."

"Yeah, well. I tell you, whoever named the characters in that movie, they didn't do their research very well."

"Oh yeah?" Intrigued, the younger man turned around. "How's that?"

"Well...the monkey. The writer, he probably thought to himself, 'Hey, this is a pretty common name in the Middle East. Every Arab man is Abu something-or-other.' Which is true..."

Richie nodded with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. "So, what's the catch?"

The other man chuckled. "In my country, when a man's wife gives him a son, his neighbors don't call him by his name anymore. They call him the father of his son. My oldest boy is Abdullah; Abu is Arabic for 'Father.' If I were still in Palestine, I would be Abu Abdullah to my friends. Not Ismail."

The Immortal laughed. "So then, you mean--?"

The Palestinian nodded, eyes sparkling. "Your Aladdin, he called his monkey his Papa!"

The younger man shook his head in amazement and went back to his dishes. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle!"

Ismail roared.

"What's this?" Chaya's voice called out from behind them. He turned to see her eyeing the apron he had donned, and his hands where they were plunged elbow-deep into soapy water. "I don't remember hiring you," she told him with a trace of amusement.

"Your 'Patriarchs' have been ribbing me about my love life. Or lack of one, right at the moment," the young man told her with a smirk. "Just because I offered to help out..."

Chaya grinned. "Get used to it--it's their favorite pastime." She grabbed a dishtowel from a nearby rack and tossed it to him. "Thanks for the offer, by the way."

"You'll pay me, right?"

"Pfft!" She waved a dismissive hand in his direction, fighting to conceal a smirk. "Like I said, I don't remember hiring you."

"Hey!"

Playfully ignoring him, Chaya turned back to the chortling chefs. "Ismail, we're starting to run low on Baklava in the front counter. When you have a moment, could you--?"

"Of course. And if I don't have time, I'll teach the Pup to make it."

"Ah..."

"What, George? Don't you like Baklava?"

"I've never even had it!" Richie protested. "How could I make it?"

"Well, unless you're absolutely devoid of cooking talent, Ismail can teach you." She turned to leave, still smiling. "Oh, Yitzhak, the gefilte fish smells wonderful! Remind me to invite you and your cooking over for Shabbat again sometime soon."

"Anytime, Emah," Levy called after her.

******

**Closing time, that night... **

Chaya looked up when Richie appeared suddenly from the back, the young man letting out a low breath of relief. Behind him, raised voices could still be heard bickering in snatches of English, Hebrew and Arabic. She cocked her head for a moment to listen, even though only the words shouted loudest could be heard clearly. Benyamin Netanyahu's name echoed through the restaurant and she winced.

"Oy! If only Rabin had lived, then maybe we would have a chance for peace both in Yisrael and in my restaurant!" she stated with exasperation, sending up a short, silent prayer in memory of the late Prime Minister. She swiped a cloth angrily over one table and glared in the direction of the kitchen.

Richie frowned. "I don't understand. This morning, they were getting along like best friends and now they sound about ready to launch World War Three."

"They are best friends," the older Immortal confirmed with a sigh. "But unfortunately, friendship can't always overcome the prejudices of a lifetime. Even a mortal lifetime. What started it this time?"

"Baddour stopping for his evening prayers."

"Of course. Levy hates being reminded that his friend is a Muslim terrorist." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Huh?"

She sighed again. "They're like just about everyone else in Yisrael, these days. Yitzhak thinks all Arabs are terrorists and Ismail hates Jews."

"Oh." Richie glanced behind him. "I never would have guessed."

Chaya smiled sadly. "That's because they both consider each other the exception to the rule. Most of the time."

"What about you?"

"I'm an exception to a lot of rules--technically not even Yitzhak should like me because I 'betrayed' my Jewishness by trusting in Y'shua."

He nodded soberly. "So, why aren't you just as gung-ho Pro-Israeli as he is? I mean, you lived there longer, after all."

"I think *that's* probably why. I've seen two Temples destroyed, my people exiled and return twice, seen them hunted like animals almost to extinction so many times..." She sighed again, sinking into a seat at one of the tables. "Adonai promised us the land forever *if* we obeyed him, and I don't feel that we've done so. Treating the other people in our land as subhuman because they aren't like us...that's no better than the Nazis who tried to wipe us out. And every time Yisrael disobeyed before..." Her eyes took on a haunted look. "...we were exiled again. I don't want to see that happen. I want to see peace, and I want to see everyone learn what Y'shua tried to teach us, that Adonai loves *all* people equally..."

A hand fell softly on her shoulder and Chaya shook herself out of her reverie to see Richie crouching before her, a look of understanding and compassion on his face. He flashed her a lopsided smile. "I sorta know the feeling. Not really...but sortof."

When she didn't answer him except with a weak smile of her own, he decided to take a risk and pulled her towards him. The older Immortal collapsed into his arms like the dishrag he'd hung up only a short time ago, her head falling onto his shoulder and her arms slipping around his waist. She didn't cry but only held onto him tightly, too weary to grieve anymore for a sorrow older and dryer than the desert where she had been born.

"You know the real tragedy of it, Richie?" she asked him, her tired voice softened to a whisper. "Holy Ground is only a place of peace for Immortals. It's only a refuge for us."

He didn't answer, instead letting an easy, companionable silence fall between them that provided more comfort than words or tears.

Across the room, finally leaving the kitchen, Ismail Baddour threw a hard punch into the upper arm of his companion.

"Ow! What did you do that for, you Meshuggenah Arab?" Levy protested. Baddour shushed him.

"Look over there," he hissed. "Look what you almost made us miss!"

The Israeli's eyes followed the Palestinian's pointing finger. A wide, impish grin spread over his tan face as he took in the figure of the young man they'd just met. He was kneeling beside a chair with his arms wrapped around the woman seated in it, their boss. She was burrowed against him, her own arms disappearing around his waist, her eyes shut and a world-weary expression beyond her years coloring her face. Neither of them seemed to notice that they were no longer alone in the room.

The two men just watched for a little while, their expressions gradually softening to fond smiles.

Levy broke the heavy silence first, his voice low and wistful. "It's good to see her not alone."

"Yes." Baddour nodded. "Yes, it is."


	3. Chapter 3

> There's a price for getting smarter  
> So I pay what I owe  
> While bridges burn  
> Let the shadow fall behind me  
> I am wiser I know  
> We live and learn  
> \--Michael W. Smith, "Live and Learn"

  


> When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.  
> \--I Corinthians 13:11

**Outside Victory Motors  
Three days later **

"Hello?" Richie called, slowly wheeling his bike up to the open door of the garage. A brand new sign proclaiming "Victory Motors" hung proudly in the opening, swaying a little in the wind as if to answer.

A man appeared then from the glassed-in office just inside the building. He waved the young man in with one hand and a welcoming smile, never breaking away from the conversation he conducted into the phone receiver that was pinned between his left ear and shoulder.

Richie eased the motorbike over the threshold and turned to study the man. He was in his mid-thirties and about half a foot shorter than the young Immortal, but with tightly muscled arms that suggested he'd never let teasing about his size go unanswered. His hair was coal black and short with a bushy mustache under a large Italian nose. He had thick dark eyebrows and large, merry brown eyes set in a narrow olive face that culminated in a strong but cleft chin. Chaya would like him, the younger man felt instinctively.

He turned his attention to the garage, which was unusually tidy, except for the requisite grease. Instead of blinds, the privacy of the office was protected by a large poster of New York City that hung in the window, facing out into the garage. The tools were neatly arranged in a cabinet or hanging on the wall above it.

"So, what can I do for you?"

Richie turned back to face the other man, who was now phoneless. "I was hoping you could give me a hand with my bike."

The shorter man nodded, holding out a hand. "I'm Victor Centineo. Call me Vic."

"Richie Ryan--glad to meet you."

Vic nodded again, this time at the bike. "Looks like you two had a nasty tangle with something."

The Immortal smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. I, um...hit a tree."

"Then you're lucky you didn't end up looking like that."

The younger man just smiled. He then proceeded to go over the bike inch by inch, explaining what was wrong as Vic followed him around it.

"Sounds pretty accurate from what I can see," the garage owner remarked approvingly when he was done. "You really care about this bike, don't you? Work on it yourself?"

Richie nodded. "Most of the time. In fact, if you're busy, I can just buy the parts and put it together myself."

"I bet you could," Vic agreed. "Since parts are pretty expensive without adding labor."

The young man smiled again at the astute assessment. "Especially since a friend of mine's paying for it."

"Short on cash?"

"At the moment, yeah."

"Sounds like a good friend."

Richie nodded. "She's turning out to be."

The older man raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. "You know, I might just let you do that, and see how you do. I could use some help around here--maybe I can use you."

"Really?" the Immortal asked, surprised. His eyes narrowed a little suspiciously. "Wait--do you know Chaya or something?"

"Nope. Who's Chaya? Your friend?"

"Yeah. Okay, so if you don't know her...why the job offer?"

Vic shrugged. "I need a hand around here, and you look like you could use the work." He shook a finger in the younger man's direction, still smiling. "Besides, you're not hired yet. Let's see if your hands are as agile as your mouth."

******

**Victory Motors  
The next day... **

"Looks good," Vic commented, circling around the motorbike with an inspecting eye.

"Thanks!" Richie's voice came from under the bike, slightly muffled. He slid out and stood up, caressing the machine with one hand as he checked with his eyes for anything left undone. Then, standing, he threw one leg over the seat and turned the engine. The bike came to life under him with a happy growl.

Beaming, Richie revved the engine a couple of times and then let it fade. He shook his head, still smiling as he looked down on his work with pride. "If that isn't the most beautiful sound in the world, I don't know what is."

Vic chuckled. "True, there's nothing so pleasing as the purr of a contented she-cat."

The younger man looked up with a sly grin. "That too."

"So, when can you start work?"

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious, if you still want the job. Want it?" He stuck out his hand.

Richie grasped it firmly, laughing. "You have to ask?"

The older man grinned. "Well then, Richie, it looks like you can go home and tell your friend Chaya you got a job."

******

**Chaya's house  
later that day **

"Chaya!" Richie called out as he opened the door. A moment later, the older Immortal appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Oh, there you are," she remarked, amused. "I was a little surprised to come home to an empty house for the first time since you've been here."

The young man in her doorway just grinned and closed the door behind him, one hand concealing something in his leather jacket. "I promise, I stayed out of trouble."

"So, why are you telling me this? I'm not your mother, or your wife."

He shrugged, eyes twinkling. "Maybe not, but you are my friend, so I thought you might care."

Her expression softened a little. "I do care. And I'm glad to know you consider me a friend."

"One of the truest friends I've ever had," he confirmed sincerely. The next instant, his mood switched completely from somber back to jovial. "Hey, Chaya, do you drink?"

"Richie, I grew up in a time when wine was safer than water half the time. What do you think?"

He shrugged, the impish glow in his eyes never fading. "Just checking. Because I bought us something to celebrate." The hand came out of the coat holding a dark bottle with a label that read 'Jekel Vineyards.' "I'm no wine connoisseur," he admitted, "but this stuff looked good."

Chaya approached him, smiling, and took the bottle. She inspected it briefly before handing it back. "It hasn't been *as* good since the original family sold the vineyard, but it will do. What are we celebrating?"

Richie's grin spread across his whole face. "I got a job."

"Really? Without even looking?"

He laughed. "The guy at the garage hired me. The place I took my bike to."

"George, that's great!"

"Even better, he gave me my first week's salary in advance..." He pulled out a slim roll of bills and flashed her a sheepish smile. "...so I could pay you back for the bike."

He held the money out to her, but Chaya shook her head. "No. I don't believe in anyone owing me money. Keep it."

"But--"

"It's a gift," she insisted, gently closing his hand over the money and pushing it away from her. "And don't say you can't accept it--" she grinned. "I'd take that as an insult of the first magnitude."

"I just feel bad."

"Charity's only gotten a bad reputation recently, George. Giving used to be considered a virtue. Besides, do you have any idea how many relationships are destroyed over a debt? What's more important, the money or the person?"

"You make it really hard to argue with you, Chaya."

She laughed and took the bottle from him. "So don't try."

******

**Guest room  
Chaya's house  
the next morning **

There was a light rapping on the door, but to Richie's pounding head it felt like a sledgehammer. He groaned. "Come in, if you come bearing Tylenol."

Chaya smiled at him from the doorway and the young man glared at her through slitted eyelids. "What right do you have to look so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?" he grumbled. "Especially since you were the one who provided the other bottles."

She chuckled. "Simple. I make it a personal policy never to drink enough to get drunk. And you had about three glasses for every one of mine."

He groaned again. "Do all older Immortals have an answer for everything or am I just lucky?"

"I would hardly say I have an answer for everything," she teased in return. "Just a few good habits I've picked up over the years. None of which you are under any obligation to acquire."

The younger man merely mumbled another complaint into his pillow as he rolled over to bury his face in it.

"Something you might like to know, though," she continued. "A hangover is largely the result of dehydration of the body by alcohol. Next time you get blitzed, just drink a lot of water before you go to bed and you should wake up in near-perfect health."

In spite of the pain, he managed a weak grin. "Any other good advice, Mom?"

"Yeah, if you ever call me that again, you can forget about ever seeing another piece of Ismail's baklava."

"I can think of some other things I'd rather call you," he teased playfully in return.

Chaya raised one eyebrow in perfect imitation of Spock. Well, perfect except for the smirk lurking at the corner of her mouth. "Oh really? Such as?"

Turning scarlet, Richie shook his head. "Never mind."

Chaya bent low over him to give his shoulders a friendly pat. Her breath caressed his ear as she laughed and his fingers tightened on the pillow in reaction.

God, he was going to have to ask her to stop doing that--if he could ever work up the nerve!

It didn't help any that her next act was to let that same hand wander through his short curls. "For now I will, since you're not yourself. But someday I expect a full list."

She stood and Richie let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Oh, and one more thing," Chaya added before she left. "I left a copy of the University of Washington fall class schedule on the dresser, in case you're interested."

That got his attention. He sat up. "What for?"

"In case you wanted to enroll in any classes. Besides motorcycle maintenance, that is," she smirked, "since you seem to have that covered."

He frowned. "I don't know. I've never really thought of myself as the college type. I mean...I got my GED while I was with Mac..." He shuddered. "...and Tessa, but...I just don't know."

"An Immortal's choices are limited only by what he knows, Richie," Chaya told him softly, returning to the edge of the bed and seating herself beside him on it. "You have something rare and precious--time enough to do everything you've dreamed and a good many things you haven't. It's your decision, but do you want to limit yourself?"

"No time like the present?"

"If you want to look at it that way. It doesn't have to be now, or even any time this century, but you might surprise yourself if you give it a try."

He nodded and was instantly reminded of why he'd been trying not to move very much. "I'll take a look at it. As soon as I can see."


	4. Chapter 4

> Did you know that before you came into my life  
> It was some kind of miracle that I survived  
> Someday we both will look back and have to laugh  
> We lived through a lifetime and the aftermath  
> \--Billy Joel, "This is the Time"

  


> Then David said to Nathan, "I have sinned against the Lord."  
> Nathan replied, "The Lord has taken away your sin. You are not going to die."  
> \--2 Samuel 12:13

**Chaya's house  
Early morning, two months later **

"Having trouble sleeping?" The voice caught his ear at about the same time as the buzz assaulted his senses, the combination soothing the moment of panic that either one by itself could have inspired.

Richie turned to her, taking a few seconds to force his breathing to slow from the workout before replying. "I had a nightmare," he confirmed. "I don't know why I came down here--in some ways, this reminds me too much of...what happened."

Chaya took a few steps into the basement room she'd converted into a gym, her green satin bathrobe making the softest of rustles as she moved. "Maybe because the dream also reminds you to keep in practice," she suggested softly.

The younger Immortal turned to frown at the sword in his hand. "Yeah, I guess it does," he admitted.

"Would you like a sparring partner?" she offered.

Richie shrugged. "Sure. You know, I don't think I've ever seen your sword."

She laughed. "That's because I try to avoid having to use it. Just give me a moment to slip into something more appropriate for swordplay, and I'll be right back."

He nodded and went back to his exercise while she disappeared. When he felt the buzz again a few minutes later, he turned to find her wearing a pair of black leggings with a long, white tank top over a leotard of the same rich dark green as the bathrobe, a color that made her hair gleam brighter red than usual. She smiled at his unconscious appraisal of her, returning it with a deliberation that brought a flush to his cheeks and made him wish he was a little more nicely dressed and less sweaty.

"I realize that most Immortals aren't going to allow their opponent to slip into exercise clothes before challenging them," she stated casually, ignoring his discomfort. "But I like to be comfortable when I play at least."

Richie just grinned in response, bobbing his eyebrows in a playful, slightly suggestive manner and Chaya laughed again.

She was carrying a sword unlike any he'd ever seen before. It was a short, thick blade, no more than a foot and a half in length, with a groove running down the center. The closest thing to it that he could recall was a Roman gladius he'd seen once on display in a museum, but the design did not really match that sword either. The crosspiece of the hilt was molded in the shape of two lions with their mouths opened in a roar, and the pommel was an angular-faced man with a tightly curled beard.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

She looked at it with an odd somberness in her eyes. "I took it from a Babylonian general who wanted to rape me, after breaking my own sword teaching him a lesson in manners."

Richie whistled. "How'd you make it last this long?"

"With good care, almost anything can weather the centuries. Even a sword..." Her lips quirked upward into a smile. "Or an Immortal." Chaya nodded towards him. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

******

_"Richie!" _

He kept swinging desperately, ignoring the voice in his mind in favor of a louder one screaming at him of Mac's betrayal.

The haze of anger and fear dissolved into pure terror as he suddenly felt the hilt of the rapier wrenched from his hands. _No! _

"Richie!!"

The voice finally broke through and Richie's eyes snapped up, focusing in horror on Chaya's face where she stood several feet away from him, her sword lowered to her side and her eyes fixed on him with concern.

God, what had he done? He'd been so blinded by the fear and anger that he'd completely lost control! If she hadn't been a better swordsman than him...he might have taken her head without even realizing it.

Just like MacLeod had almost done to him.

"Chaya...oh, God..!" Ducking down to retrieve his sword, he began to back away from her.

"Richie--"

"I'm sorry," he vowed desperately. "I'm so sorry."

Choking back bile at what he had almost done, Richie turned and fled, Chaya still calling his name after him.

******

_Like teacher like student, huh? _

_Shut up!_ Richie scolded himself, leaning forward on his bike and gunning the engine even more. His wayward thoughts refused to listen though, as Chaya's face rose before him in his mind like a ghost.

He shivered. Bad analogy.

She hadn't been afraid, that was the shocking thing. Meeting her liquid chocolate eyes had only shown him her concern...for him. She'd never for a moment felt the cold terror that had washed over him when Mac had come after him...either time.

_Why the hell not? _

That question did laps in his mind as he drove, while the rest of his thoughts grew more and more morose. Maybe it would have been better if Mac had killed him. The Highlander had taken a Dark Quickening--at least that was more of an excuse than *he* had. It hadn't made the hurt any less, but it sure made him feel like a criminal.

Chaya didn't deserve to have to deal with his screwed up excuse for a psyche. No one did.

He slowed as his eyes caught the neon sign of a bar proclaiming "Delila's" against the weak morning light. Maybe he could just pick up where he'd left off the night Chaya had found him. And maybe this time, things would come full circle back to where they were before Joe had pulled that trigger and saved his worthless neck.

Biting his lip, he pulled into the parking lot. The place wasn't open yet, but he could wait.

******

**Several hours later... **

Her lips pinched together tightly, Chaya pressed her foot down a little harder on the accelerator, picking up speed as her eyes continued to sweep the streets looking for a young man on a motorcycle.

_Please let me find him, Rabbi Y'shua,_ she prayed, her hands tightening on the wheel. _Give me something, anything to guide me. _

After several more minutes of fruitless searching, the something she had asked for speared through her mind: the telltale signature of an Immortal presence.

Gunning the engine to a level it was clearly unaccustomed to, she followed the trail, her lips moving all the time in a caravan of silent prayers for the safety of her young guest.

She pulled up alongside the dock just in time to see him fall to his knees, head bowed under the dual weight of a Quickening and his own guilt. Parking, she saw his head come up as the awareness of her presence registered in his mind. He staggered to his feet, clutching the rapier tightly in the wrong hand and looking around with a wild expression. When she stepped out of the car and he saw her, he took a step back towards the water.

"Don't," she pleaded softly, holding one hand out to him in invitation. "Please, Richie, don't run."

"It happened again," Richie whispered numbly. "I was gonna let him win, if he wasn't better than me. But I couldn't stop. In spite of everything, I wanted to live so badly..." He lifted his eyes to hers, filled with pain and confusion. "Why weren't you afraid?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

He nodded. "Because I could never beat you."

"No," she contradicted him softly. "Because it's not who you are. I may not have known you long, George, but I do know that much."

Richie looked down at the body beside him, the gesture a silent question.

"You could never betray a friend," she clarified. "You don't have it in you."

She stepped forward. "I'm not saying what you did was right. It wasn't. But we all do things that are wrong, that's no reason to stop living. I was lucky--when I tried to kill myself, I turned out to be Immortal. Most people don't get a second chance to discover that life is worth living...please don't waste it."

The younger man's eyes met hers in surprise. "You tried to kill yourself?"

Chaya nodded with a sad smile. "That's how I died the first time."

Richie sighed deeply, remembering the first battle he'd ever fought as an Immortal. Then, he hadn't been able to bring himself to finish the fight. He'd given Annie Devlin her life then, but he'd changed. Two months ago, he'd sworn never to be merciful again. But that was before he'd met Chaya, before she'd stood here offering him a new, more potent definition of mercy.

"I can't bring him back," he acknowledged ruefully.

"No. But there is something you can do."

"What?"

"Let the memory change you, make it so this can't happen again."

"I wish there was a way to end it, all the fighting."

"Yeah, I know. So do I."

She closed the last bit of distance between them and laid a comforting hand on his arm. Her eyes drifted to the head lying on the ground a foot or so away from the body, and a little gasp unexpectedly escaped her throat.

Almost hidden beneath a mass of dirty-blond curls was face that still hung in her memory, even after more than four centuries.

_****** _

_ **Turkey, 1539 ** _

_The young man lifted the tent flap and entered, carrying a small bowl in one hand. "Are you hungry?" he asked. _

_Chaya had been scooting across the floor towards her sword when she felt the other Immortal. She now turned to him with daggered eyes. "I don't know. What would your friend's beloved Sultan say if his prize new slave died of starvation within her first days in his palace?" she spat at him. _

_He regarded her with a curious eye. "You'd really go so far just to escape the life of a concubine?" _

_"I would do anything to escape that life," she replied with deadly quietness in her voice. "My faith forbids it. I will never be part of a harem again. Not even for another Shlomo." _

_****** _

"Oh, God, you knew him, didn't you?" the young man asked miserably.

She nodded with a sad smile. "Yes, but not as well as I knew his teacher. And you needn't worry--we traveled together for a while, but I wouldn't call either of them a friend."

("I'm sorry, Mac. I know he was your friend.") God, how many times had he said that to his former teacher? Enough so that it felt rote by the time they parted ways.

He shivered. _Let's not think about that right now, okay?_ "Well, that's a relief at least," he stated lamely.

Chaya's eyes moved slowly upwards to connect with his, the intensity in them startling him almost as much as it had only hours ago in her gym. "It shouldn't be," she told him with a sigh. "Because Haresh will come looking for you. And when he does, it will take a master to survive."

Richie swore. "Which I'm not."

_Aren't you?_ The older Immortal studied him with a curious expression in her eyes. "Well, I guess we'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

"You'll teach me?"

"No. But I'll help you learn."

"What's the difference?"

She smiled. "It's semantic, but teaching someone implies you have some sort of authority over them. Whereas helping you learn leaves us on equal footing, as we have been to this point."

_Oh. Okay. _

"Besides which," she smiled. "How many Immortals do you know who teach their students how to defeat them?"

_****** _

_ **Egypt, 926 BC ** _

_"Stop it! Stop pushing me so hard! How can I learn what you haven't taught me?" _

_Bedwas sighed, meeting the burning dark eyes of his student. "Chaya, I have taught you everything I know. If you ever want to be able to defeat me, you must begin to develop your own techniques. Notice what I do, and figure out ways to get around it." _

_The young Israelite woman shook her head, one auburn curl wiggling loose from the cord that tied her hair back. "That's silly. Why would I ever want to defeat you?" _

_Her tutor regarded her with sober eyes. "So that you'll be able to defeat anyone better than I who challenges you." _

_That stopped her. The anger faded from her eyes and she raised them again to him, now thoughtful. "Do...do all Immortals teach that?" _

_"No. There is a danger inherent in giving others the power to beat you. A danger that someone will twist that gift back upon you and take your head..." _

_"So why do you care?" she asked softly. _

_Bedwas brought a hand to her face and traced it with one finger that was still strangely pale, despite long exposure to the desert sun. "Because I want to see you survive, My Life...even if I don't." _

_She stepped back. Even though it had been twelve years, she still pulled away from his touch, unable to shake the fear that still overwhelmed her longing for him. The older man sighed again. _

_"I'm sorry, Bedwas," she whispered. _

_"It's all right. Maybe someday." He stepped back and lifted his blade once again. "But in the meantime, give me the gift of knowing you will live to see a million somedays." _

_****** _

"How can you take that risk?" Richie asked her, his voice oddly subdued.

_("Because I want to see you survive, My Life...even if I don't.") _

"Because I trust you." _I trust you as I never trusted Haresh or Carter, even after I forgave them for what they did to me._

He shuddered. _Yeah, well, I trusted Mac too. I trusted him more than anyone._ "But what if..." He took a deep breath that shook his whole body. "What if I betray that trust? What if I...lose it again?"

Chaya took his free hand in hers and squeezed his fingers tightly. "You won't."


	5. Chapter 5

> So now you're back from outer space  
> I just walked in to find you here  
> With that sad look upon your face  
> I should have changed that stupid lock  
> I should have made you leave your key  
> If I'd known for just one minute  
> You'd be back to bother me  
> \--Gloria Gaynor, "I Will Survive"

  


> "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me?"  
> \--Matthew 18:21

**DeSalvo's Dojo **

Duncan MacLeod could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, Joe Dawson concluded with a sigh. All he'd done was walk into the dojo and Mac had curtly asked him to leave. _Doesn't he ever get over anything? I admitted I was wrong, why can't he? _

"I'm an Immortal, you're a Watcher," the Scot argued. "We can't cross that line. How many times do we have to be taught that?"

_Sheesh, he sounds like he's trying to break up with me or something. _

"Look, I hear stuff. And sometimes I just can't ignore it." Even though MacLeod was doing a pretty good job of ignoring him, having gone back to his workout. The Watcher took a deep breath before proceeding. "It's Richie."

Duncan stopped cold and turned to look at him.

_Well, it's nice to know you still give a damn about some of your friends. _

"We thought he was going to be okay. He'd been taken in by a woman named Chaya Abrams who owns a Mediterranean restaurant on the edge of town. He even had a job and seemed to be keeping a fairly even keel...until yesterday. He showed up at a bar called Delila's in a really foul mood and picked a fight with another Immortal--"

"That's nice," MacLeod interrupted, his voice even.

"An Immortal named Carter Wellan," Joe persisted, biting back the temptation to snap at the other man's deliberate coldness. "Squire to one Haresh Clay."

Duncan stopped again.

"I see you recognize the name."

"Yes," Mac murmured.

Joe nodded. "Well, Richie won, which wouldn't be a problem except Clay's looking for him. He doesn't know who killed Wellan yet, but knowing him, it won't take long to find out."

The Immortal turned deliberately away. "Richie can take care of himself," he said softly.

The Watcher sighed. "There's more. The woman he's staying with...we think she may be an Immortal."

MacLeod turned back to the Watcher, surprise and amusement painted on his features. "You think? You don't know?"

Joe looked annoyed. "We do lose track on occasion, MacLeod. Especially with the older ones. How do you think Methos managed to elude us long enough to pull that little stunt of his?"

"So, you think she's an old one."

The mortal nodded. "Every now and then, the name Chaya pops up in the Watcher records. The first time was in conjunction with the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BC. The record speaks of a female Immortal named Chaya who dressed herself as a man and fought with the men of Israel against the Babylonians, killing one of their best known generals and taking his sword as a trophy. But the city was taken, and Chaya went to the court of Nebuchadnezzar as a concubine. She vanished about the time of the Persian conquest of Babylon, presumed dead."

"That's very interesting, Joe."

"Damnit, Mac, listen to me! During the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent, the name appears again..." he took a deep breath. "In conjunction with Haresh Clay."

The Immortal stopped cold, his tan complexion doing its best to turn pale.

Knowing he'd gotten the other man's attention, Joe continued. "Apparently he tricked her into coming with him to the Ottoman court, no one's quite sure how. But he tried to sell her to Suleiman as a concubine, and she killed ten of the guards assigned to her before the Sultan finally promised to set her free and give her an escort back to Jerusalem. Clay was so impressed with her will to survive that he and Wellan accompanied her and they traveled together for fifteen years--God only knows why, after what he did to her. After that, she disappeared again."

Duncan didn't say anything.

"He's gonna get himself killed, MacLeod, you gotta talk to him!"

"That's not really your business, is it, Joe?"

"Maybe not, but it sure as hell is yours! Especially after what happened."

The Immortal didn't answer, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

Joe's face darkened. "Fine. You don't owe anybody anything, not me, not Richie. We can just go to hell!" Without waiting for the apology he knew wouldn't come, he turned and left.

******

**Outside Chaya's house  
Later that day **

The roar of the engine growled to a peak and faded again several times, each time gunning a little louder and dying a little more. Bare hands tightened and relaxed their grip on the handlebars and dancing blue eyes rested watchfully on the door of the house outside of which the motorbike was parked. After a few minutes, the door opened and a red-haired woman with brown eyes stepped onto the porch.

"What's got you in such a good mood today?" she teased.

"I got paid." Richie grinned and revved the engine again, his smile broadening when she laughed. "Want a ride?" he called to her over the dying roar.

Chaya shook her head with amusement as she approached the bike. "Haven't you ever read the decapitation statistics on these things?"

"I like to live on the edge." The younger Immortal wagged his eyebrows at her. "Give it a try, just this once?"

Still she hesitated.

"Come on," Richie coaxed. "It's not like they had these when you were young and brash."

"No, the closest thing we had was a runaway horse," she retorted, still smiling.

"So..?"

******

Her analogy of a runaway horse wasn't far off, Chaya reflected with a smile, relacing her fingers around Richie's waist. Only not even the fleetest stallion could match the pace of this steel steed. Round rubber-shoed hooves drummed a rapid, thrumming rhythm as they split the wind down the length of the highway like a blade through flesh.

Part of her couldn't help but wistfully wonder why she'd never braved this particular venture earlier, before helmet laws had gone into effect. She missed the wind in her face, in her hair, even though it rippled through the curls that hung over her shoulders. The young man in front of her turned his head for just a moment, seeming to ask a question with eyes she could barely see through the face shield of the helmet. In answer, she tightened her arms around him for a moment that was part concession, part reassurance.

She had a sudden image of racing through the narrow sandstone canyon that had once been the city of Petra, astride a dark bay Arabian mare. It was a picture that had teased her before, half memory and half dream, making her ache so much for her homeland that she sometimes wondered why she stayed away. Only this time, there was another horse running beside her...with Richie Ryan on his back.

Chaya shivered, trying to push the implications of that out of her mind. It had been a long time since she'd dreamed of taking someone with her to visit her homeland. She was getting much too attached to this young man.

That thought was still troubling her when Richie pulled the bike up in front of her house again several minutes later. It was quickly driven from her mind though by the warning sensation of another Immortal.

The young man in front of her killed the engine quickly, removing his helmet and drawing his sword almost in one motion. She dismounted as well, bringing out her own blade and looking around with wary eyes.

A man with long black hair appeared from around the corner and she saw the younger Immortal stiffen, raising his sword so that it was aimed in a deadly line straight at the older man.

"You looking for me? Okay, here I am."

The other man had the audacity to look injured by Richie's anger. His voice, when he spoke, was tired and placating. "I came here to tell you I'm still your friend."

"I've heard that one before."

"Put that away, I'm not going to fight you," the darker man insisted.

"Yeah, right!"

_This is him,_ Chaya realized, a cold, numbing anger slowly creeping into her own mind with the recognition. _This is Richie's teacher, the one who tried to kill him._

"I tried looking for you. I tried calling you from Paris. But I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I wasn't around. I had some things to take care of," Richie snapped, his voice still raw with bitterness and hurt.

"Yeah, I heard about Wellan."

Chaya took a step forward, eyes flashing at the condescension in the dark-haired man's tone.

"You know," Richie continued. "I used to stay up at night wondering, thinking, that there must be some special thing I'm supposed to do with my life because I'm Immortal. And I had this illusion that because you were my teacher, that you would show me what it was. And you did. I got it now. There can be only one. Thanks, Teach."

"So what are you doing here with her, then?" MacLeod retorted, nodding in the older Immortal's direction.

His face turning to stone, Richie placed himself between his one-time teacher and his new friend. "Don't even think about it, Mac."

'Mac' relented, his expression revealing that he knew he'd said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, Richie. I didn't mean--"

"You don't mean a lot of things," the younger man interrupted curtly. "But you still do them. Well, let me tell you something, *MacLeod.* I've been practicing. Next time you pull a sword on me, it won't be so easy."

"Richie!"

Ignoring the other man's protests, Richie turned and stormed up the stairs into the house, letting the door slam violently behind him.

_So, this is the Highlander,_ Chaya thought to herself, her eyes sweeping mercilessly over the figure standing before her staring in pathetic helplessness at the door his disillusioned protege had disappeared through. She was not impressed.

"I suggest you get off my property," she told him in a cold voice.

MacLeod glared at her. "Does he know? Did you tell him you're pals with a man who's after his head?"

"Richie knows everything there is to know about my past association with Haresh. Including the fact that we were never 'pals.' And considering your own history with that young man in there, you're in no position to be giving him advice about his choice of friends. Now, please get off my property now, unless you want to leave it without *your* head."

"Are you threatening me?" The question's tone bordered on derisive.

"No. I'm making a statement of fact. I don't care how good your intentions are, Highlander, or how possessed you were when you tried to kill your own student. If Richie dies at your hand, you and I and a hell of a lot of other people are going to regret it for the rest of our lives. And if killing you is the only way I can prevent that, I'll do it."

"I'm not going to do that again!" he protested.

Chaya's eyes met his with a certainty that made him shiver. "Yes you will. And I'll stop you, one way or another."

Leaving him dumbfounded, she turned away into the house.

"Sorry about that," Richie apologized as she entered the front room.

"About what?"

"Leaving you alone out there with him."

Chaya laughed. "Richie, I can take care of myself, you know. I've been doing it for almost three thousand years."

"I know...and I wasn't worried about that. It's just...Duncan's...well..."

"Duncan MacLeod has an overblown opinion of his own importance."

The young man laughed. "That pretty much sums him up, yeah."

******

**The next morning... **

Richie was in the middle of a bite of Froot Loops when his mind was assaulted by the presence of another Immortal. His first thought was that Chaya had come back for something she'd forgotten, but that idea was soon broken by the sound of the glass in the front door shattering.

"Oh, shit..." His sword was sitting on his bed in the guest room. _Well, so much for going to work today. And so much for Chaya helping me learn what I need to know! _

Bolting from the table, he raced for the stairs, just as a dark man with a shaved head and death in his eyes burst into the kitchen. Taking only enough time to register that this was probably Haresh Clay, he bounded up the stairs and into the bedroom, eyes searching for the rapier Mac had given him after his first fight.

_Damn, where is it?? _

A glint of gold on the trunk caught his eye, and he lunged for the hilt just as the enraged man splintered the closed door of the room. Richie thrust the sword up in front of him, but Clay struck with such force that the blade snapped in half.

Without thinking, Richie took the only way out he knew. He hurled himself through the guest room window and rolled down the roof, falling to the ground and then picking himself up to jump on his motorcycle and roar away.

_Now what?_ he thought miserably as the bike growled down the narrow street. His heart rate and breathing were still being powered by the adrenaline coursing through him like a Quickening. A Quickening he'd almost given the other man...

The young Immortal shivered. He had to find a sword, but how?

_Chaya... _

No. His idiocy in challenging Wellan had already caused enough trouble for her. He looked back, wincing at the thought of the destruction he and Clay had wreaked on the house. He _wouldn't_ lead him to the Manna and Quail too.

_So, what do I do, then? It's not like I have the cash on me for a decent sword, and I'm sure not gonna go begging to MacLeod! _

An idea struck him and he turned the bike in a familiar direction. Hopefully, he had one friend who might be willing to save his life again.

******

**Joe's **

The Watcher looked up, letting out a deep sigh as he recognized the form of the young man who had just walked in. He should have expected him, after the phone call he'd just received...

"Hey, Richie," he called out to the Immortal, trying to sound cheerful.

Richie crossed to the bar, a forced smile on his own face.

"Can I get you a nice stiff drink?"

The younger man nodded. "Why don't you go ahead and make it a double?"

Joe nodded and turned around to collect two double shots and a bottle, pouring one for each of them. Richie downed the drink quickly and set the glass back down.

"Another?"

The older man shook his head so the young Immortal poured just the one for himself. The second drink went down almost as quickly and Joe leaned on the counter, studying him with a watchful, knowing eye.

After a long, almost uncomfortable silence, Richie finally spoke. "I lost my sword."

"Broke it," the Watcher corrected him.

The young Immortal grimaced. "You guys know too much."

Joe sighed. "So I've been told."

"Look...I was wondering if I...if I could borrow a couple of grand to buy a new one."

The other man closed his eyes, fighting the urge to turn away. _Oh, God..._ "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Joe, you know me. You know I'm good for it."

"It's not the money. I just...I just can't."

"This is me! It's Richie!"

"And I'm a Watcher. And I swore an oath not to get involved."

"You saved my life. You shot MacLeod. That's not getting involved?"

Joe shook his head. "It was a mistake."

The hurt look on the young man's face made him regret the words the moment he spoke them. "Saving my life was a mistake?" Richie asked incredulously.

"That's not what I meant. It was...it was just a gut reaction. I didn't think." Uncomfortable, he tried to change the subject. "What about your friend, Chaya?"

The Immortal stared morosely at his glass for a minute. "Yeah...maybe."

"Richie."

The younger man looked up, his eyes still wounded.

"As a friend, I wish I could help you. But as a Watcher...I just can't."

Richie stood, glaring at his friend. "That's convenient."

He slapped a bill down on the counter for the drink and left.

Swearing silently, Joe picked up the money and stared at it. _Is it worth it, Joe?_ he asked himself grimly. _Is your Watcher oath really worth watching your friend get killed? He stared in the direction the young Immortal had gone. Richie is your friend, remember?_

Yeah, he remembered. Even though he didn't know if the kid would ever believe that again.

_Just great, Joe. Put your name on the list of people who've let him down. So you can't be a Watcher and be their friend? Which one's more important? _

The Watcher pulled back his sleeve and stared at the mark on his wrist, an idea beginning to bloom in his mind. _Which indeed? _

******

**Masterworks of the Forge exhibit  
Seacouver City Art Museum  
That night **

_Some skills you never forget,_ Richie thought ruefully as the lock clicked into place and the door opened. A part of him inside was cringing at the act; it was as if he'd reverted to the wise-ass seventeen-year-old hoodlum, a persona he'd gladly given up under Mac and Tessa's care. But desperate times...

He stepped into the museum, his eyes sweeping over the smorgasbord of weapons laid out before him. _I'll bring it back,_ he scolded his over-talkative conscience. _As soon as I can afford to get my own, I'll return this one. I promise. _

Said conscience didn't seem to believe him.

Forcing his mind to the matter of self-preservation, he turned again to survey his choices, finally deciding on a medieval-looking blade set Excalibur-like in a plastic rock in a case against the wall. He reached for the pick again.

Before he could bring it to the lock on the cabinet though, he froze, his Immortal sixth sense going off like an alarm. Panic seized him and he drove one elbow through the glass of the case, triggering a real alarm that sang out like a cat as he struggled to pull the stubborn blade from its display.

Clay stepped into the room, an evil smile burning in his eyes. "I knew you'd come here sooner or later."

His entire insides turning to ice, Richie turned to face his pursuer with enforced bravado. "Hey, I'm unarmed," he argued weakly. "Where's the honor in that?"

The darker man scowled at him. "I didn't come for your honor, boy. I came for your head."

"Look, I'm sorry about your friend," the younger Immortal apologized.

"You didn't even know Carter Wellan."

"No," Richie admitted, backing away. "I was wrong, and I'm *sorry*."

"That's not good enough. I don't care who Sameh thinks you are, I'm not leaving here without your head!"

The younger Immortal blinked in surprise, recognizing the Arabic word as the name Chaya told him Clay had bestowed upon her--forgiver. "What do you mean? Who does she think I am?"

Clay took advantage of the young man's surprise to attack, but Richie's reflexes were still fast and he leapt out of the way repeatedly, jumping behind cases and knocking over displays whenever he could.

Then, he heard the approaching wail of police sirens and saw an escape. When the cars pulled up before the store, he dashed out the way he had come, right into the waiting arms of the cops.

******

**The next morning **

"This fight is mine." The Scot insisted.

Richie rolled his eyes. As relieved as he was that MacLeod had showed up to post his bail, he *really* didn't need this. Even if the story he'd just been told did explain a little bit of his former-mentor's vendetta against Clay. "Mac, forget it. The days of you protecting me are long gone."

"Hey, this isn't about me protecting you. I have to finish this."

"Then you'd better find him before I do," the younger man informed him.

The Highlander turned back to the Thunderbird, his face clearly reflecting his displeasure, but also resignation. "Look, if you face him, you'll be needing one of these."

He lifted a sword out of the back seat, a long silvery blade with a hilt wrapped in black leather. "It belonged to Graham Ashe."

The younger man shook his head stubbornly. "I can take care of myself." _Yeah, right. What are you gonna do now? Keep running? Go begging to Chaya? Or maybe go back to the scene of the crime and get caught again trying to steal another sword? _

The older man sighed. "Yeah, I know you can." He dropped his eyes, once again extending the hand with the sword in it to his former student. "Just take it. Please."

After another moment of hesitation, he reached out and took the sword. "Thanks."

With a relieved smile, MacLeod clambered into the car.

"So, I guess I owe you one," Richie stated a little uneasily.

Duncan shook his head, a contrite frown on his face. "No, I owe you one."


	6. Chapter 6

> Do you believe in life after love?  
> I can feel something inside me say  
> I really don't think you're strong enough  
> \--Cher, "Believe"

  


> "May the Lord keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other."  
> \--Genesis 31:49

**Chaya's house  
Later that day... **

Someday she would forgive herself for arriving too late, Chaya knew, but it was going to take a long time. She'd left the restaurant after breakfast yesterday; whatever sixth sense it was that supplied the channel for her visions had kicked into overdrive. When a news break on the radio announced that the headless remains fished out of the bay had been identified by a friend of the deceased, she'd sped home with a silent prayer. She'd arrived to find the glass in the front door shattered, the guest room trashed, and Haresh Clay leaning out the broken window screaming curses in Arabic.

Chaya stood abruptly and began to pace the kitchen, wandering from the table where she and Richie had first begun to bond to the refrigerator she'd once jokingly called his "new best friend" when she caught him midnight-snacking. Clay hadn't come back again to gloat, so there was a good chance that the young man was still alive, but that didn't ease her discomfort. She'd been woken up by nightmares at least twenty times last night.

As she crossed the room, back and forth, she struggled again to decipher the dreams. One was the same vision she'd told the young man about the morning after they met--Richie's sword, which now lay broken on the table in front of her, and the katana. But the other...the images didn't make sense, but somehow she knew what it meant.

And one thing it meant was that he had to live. _Please, Adonai, don't let it be too late. _

She'd always believed her God had a sense of humor, and He demonstrated it now for the prayer had no sooner passed through her mind than she felt the warning buzz. Chaya stiffened, her fingers clasping her sword where it lay beside Richie's broken one on the table.

She heard a soft curse muttered in a familiar voice and the next moment brought a knock on what was left of her front door.

"Richie?" she called out, hurrying into the front room.

The young Immortal looked up at her sheepishly through the broken glass in the door. "Hiya, Chaya."

A huge, relieved smile broke over her face and she began to laugh as she reached to open the door.

"I didn't think it was *that* funny..." Richie teased, a smirk dancing in his own eyes.

Ignoring the smart remark, Chaya dropped her sword and pulled the young man into a fervent embrace. "I'm so glad you're all right," she whispered.

His arms tightened around her waist and he let out a long breath. "Yeah, me too."

"Why didn't you come back?"

"I was afraid to," Richie admitted, releasing her. "I've already dragged you into this enough. I didn't want the place torn up by a Quickening too." He shivered. "Especially mine."

She shuddered as well. "Your sword--"

"He broke it with the first blow. But it's okay--I got a new one."

Reaching into his coat, he withdrew the silvery blade that MacLeod had given him.

Chaya nodded again, even more relieved. She reached one hand out to touch the sword and he handed it to her. After a short inspection, she handed it back to him. "It's nice."

Richie cracked a weak smile.

"Where did you get it?" Chaya asked. "And where did you go when you left here?"

The young man stared uncomfortably at his shoes for a moment before answering. "Mac gave it to me."

A cold fear gripped the older Immortal's stomach. "Trying to get back in your good graces?" she asked coolly.

He looked surprised at the tone of her voice. "I just thought he wanted to help me out."

Her expression remained troubled, to the point that she looked almost ill. "Is it worth risking your life to ease his conscience?" she finally asked.

Richie shook his head. "He'd taken a Dark Quickening. He wasn't himself. Mac would never hurt me--"

"Your history seems to suggest otherwise," she snapped in return.

"Chaya--" Richie began, his voice tinged with amazement at the venom in hers.

"There's something I never told you about my dream, Richie," Chaya interrupted again, biting her lip and fighting the instinct to turn away from him. "I said I saw him attack you twice...but I didn't tell you about the third time. I didn't want you to feel any more betrayed than you already did."

"Third time?"

"He will try again, Richie," she told him softly. "I'm sorry."

"But obviously he won't succeed, right?"

"I don't know. But if you stay away from him, you'll never have to find out."

The young man's face turned grave, his eyes pensive. "When we were sparring the first time...when I lost it...you gave me another chance because you said you trusted me. You forgave me. This isn't any more normal for MacLeod than that was for me. Don't I owe him the same mercy you showed me?"

Chaya shook her head, frowning. "This isn't about mercy, Richie. It isn't about forgiveness. Forgive him if you want, but he *will* try to take your head again! If you want to live...please...keep away from him."

"When you told me about your dream, you said you recognized it as me because of my sword," he argued. He held up the sword in his hands. "I'm not carrying that one any longer. How do you know what you saw hasn't been changed?"

"I don't," she admitted. "But I'm afraid to assume that and be wrong."

"Well...I'm not."

"I don't want to see you die." _I can't. _

He grinned. "Believe me, neither do I. I'll be on my guard, I promise."

Chaya closed her eyes. _You don't understand. _

"By the way..."

She sighed. "Yeah?"

"What did you tell Clay? He said he didn't care who you thought I was--who do you think I am?"

Chaya dropped her eyes to her lap, a touch of color stealing into her face. "I told him he couldn't kill you...because you were supposed to be the One."

The younger Immortal just stared. "You're kidding."

"Well...sort of." She sighed. "I do know, Richie, that there is something Adonai wants you to do, something very important that will change all of our lives. But I don't know what, or how."

"You really believe that?" he asked with a touch of disbelief.

"I saw it."

"Chaya, I'm not exactly a legendary swordsman, or whatever. I hardly think I'm qualified for any special role in the history of Immortals."

"Adonai always chooses the unqualified," she replied with a smile.

"So...if Clay couldn't kill me, why are you so sure that Mac will?"

"Because you trust him. You're more vulnerable to him."

Richie shook his head. "If you can trust me after what I did--"

"That's different."

"It sounds like a double standard to me. You don't know MacLeod."

"Maybe it is. And you're right, I don't. All I know is what I see. George...please..."

The young man closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. "All right," he relented. "I'll think about it...after I deal with Clay."

******  


**Later that night **

_Stop that!_ Chaya scolded herself sharply, reaching up to smudge a threatening tear out of her left eye before it could fall. _You're behaving like a silly schoolgirl, and schoolgirls didn't even exist when you were young enough to be one! _

She'd finally coaxed Richie to stay, on the assurance that he could leave first thing in the morning to seek out Clay before the other Immortal could come looking for him again. And he'd promised to consider her words about MacLeod...but a deep instinct that she'd learned to trust wouldn't let her take comfort in the promise.

He wasn't lying. He would think about what she'd said. But she knew, even if he didn't yet, what the decision would be.

_Loyal to a fault._

She had been asked to protect him, and she had failed because he listened too well to some of her words, and not at all to others.

She rolled over in her bed and buried her head deeper in the pillows, trying not to think about the young man in the guest room. Trying not to sleep because she was afraid of the content of her dreams.

_I can't watch him die. _

("I'll stop you, one way or another.")

_I thought this was the way!_ she cried out silently.

If it came down to a fight between the two, she couldn't interfere. It was the rules of the Game. But she couldn't stand by and watch, either. Better to be as far away as possible. That she could arrange for in the morning.

She had definitely become much too attached.

******  


**St. John's By the Sea Cemetery  
The next morning **

"I'm not telling you to do this for me. I'm asking you."

Richie considered for a long moment, turning over in his mind the story that Duncan had just related. Was that really worth fighting over? A three-hundred-year-old embarrassment?

Chaya would say no. But this wasn't Chaya, this was Mac, and Mac valued his honor, his reputation, over just about anything else. And in spite of everything...Mac was still the closest thing he had to a father.

Besides, it wasn't just the embarrassment. It was also the senseless death of a friend. The same reason Clay had come after him.

"Okay," he relented.

"Thanks." There was a pause as MacLeod seemed to be trying to think of something to say. "This is holy ground, you'll be safe here."

The younger man resisted the temptation to smirk. _Oh yeah, you learned your lesson from Ashe, all right. _

"If he takes me, he'll take you too."

_I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mac,_ Richie reflected with a thoughtful glance at the older man.

Chaya's voice echoed in his mind: ("Duncan MacLeod has an overblown opinion of his own importance.")

He smiled. _Yeah, well, maybe he does. But it won't hurt to let him keep it for a little while._

"So don't let him," he stated calmly instead, and stepped back to watch while MacLeod crossed the grass to where Clay was waiting.

******  


**The Manna and Quail  
A couple hours later... **

Levy and Baddour looked up as Richie burst into the kitchen, exchanging a sad, knowing glance. The Arab chef crossed the room to pat the young man on the back. "Hello, Pup."

"Where's Chaya?"

The two men looked at each other and sighed. "She's at home," Levy finally said.

Richie frowned at the unexpected revelation. "I thought she never left here before closing."

"She left early yesterday, and she never came in today," Ismail explained sadly. "She called this morning, said she had decided to sell the restaurant, to us if we wanted it. That she was going home."

The young man turned white. "What?"

Yitzhak nodded. "We told her we'd be happy to run it for her while she was gone, but that she shouldn't sell unless she was sure she wanted to. She said she is sure, but okay."

"Oh, God," Richie whispered.

("You could never betray a friend. You don't have it in you.")

_Wanna bet?_ the young Immortal thought grimly.

"We had a fight," he tried to explain numbly. "I didn't mean--"

Levy interrupted him with a thump on the back and a smile. "I know. Why don't you go talk to her, nu? I think you both need it."

******  


**Chaya's house **

"I guess I was wrong about you."

Richie stopped in the entryway of the dining room. A pained expression crossed his face, but he said nothing. Chaya sat at the table, her back turned to him and her head bowed over a cup of tea. In front of her on the table was the broken sword that he'd left behind when he fled from Clay.

She turned to face him, only a near-imperceptible trace of disappointment in her eyes breaking through the careful masking of her features. "You gave the fight to MacLeod."

He nodded. "He is my teacher. I owe him that much."

"Anything you owed him was more than paid the first day he turned on you."

"I owe him my life."

"And he has claimed that debt twice."

"Chaya--"

The older Immortal shook her head. "I won't fight with you about this. Not again. If you want to give MacLeod another chance, that's your choice. But if that is your choice...then you don't need me anymore."

"Why don't you come with me? Once you get to know him--"

She interrupted him with a shake of the head. Her voice was unusually subdued. "I've made arrangements to go home for a while. I haven't been back since 1967, and I just need a rest." A small, sad smile caught one corner of her mouth. "Who knows?" she asked softly. "I may even decide to stay."

"Chaya...I'm sorry."

_Sorry for what? That I can't stay around to watch you die? _

He reached out a hand towards her, but Chaya turned away. "I don't blame you, I just...please go, George."

Richie hesitated, his face reflecting his emotional turmoil. _If you had to choose...if you had to live without Chaya or Mac...which one would you be willing to give up? _

He had an inkling of the answer, but it didn't matter. For the first time since he'd known her, Chaya had already made the choice for him.

When he collected his belongings and left, she was still sitting there, not touching her tea. Once he was gone, her hands and eyes wandered to the sword on the table, the only thing he'd left behind.

("I guess I was wrong about you.")

She had to be wrong. As she'd observed to herself only days ago, she'd gotten much too attached to the cobalt-eyed youth. Maybe attached enough to convince herself that just an ordinary dream was one of her visions.

Fingering the broken blade of the rapier, Chaya let her head sink to the table. The first tear of a kind she hadn't cried in centuries slid down her face.

Much too attached indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to have a sequel which dealt head on with, and "fixed" the outcome of "Archangel," but I never did get around to writing it. But I'm a card-carrying member of Clan Denial, so one day it may yet come to pass.
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> A = Arabic, H = Hebrew, Y = Yiddish
> 
> Abba-(H) Father  
> Abu-(A) Father  
> Adonai-(H) The Lord  
> Avraham-(H) Abraham  
> Bat-(H) daughter of  
> Chaya-(H) life [feminine form of Chaim]*  
> Emah-(H) mother  
> Ismail-(A) Ishmael  
> Kefa-(H) Cephus/Peter  
> Meshuggenah-(Y) messed up**  
> Rabbi-(H) teacher  
> Sameh-(A) forgiver  
> Shabbat-(H) the Sabbath  
> Sha'ul-(H) Saul/Paul  
> Shlomo-(H) Solomon  
> Suleiman-(A) Solomon  
> Yehuda-(H) Judah/Judea  
> Yerushalayim-(H) Jerusalem  
> Yisrael-(H) Israel  
> Yitzhak-(H) Isaac  
> Yosef-(H) Joseph  
> Y'shua-(H) Jesus/Joshua
> 
> *Apparently in modern Hebrew, chaya means 'animal' rather than 'life.' However since I didn't discover this until after I'd posted the first part, all the name books I studied still listed it as 'life', and I know from years of studying etymology that the meaning of words can change over time, I've chosen to leave it as is. Here's hoping any Hebrew speakers will forgive me and enjoy the ride anyway. :-)
> 
> **Not sure about the spelling on that, but my resources offered me two or three different possible spellings, so I just went with the one I liked best. *g*
> 
> Bibliography:
> 
> The Encarta Encyclopedia on CD-ROM
> 
> The Holy Bible, NIV Translation.
> 
> Kenyon, Sherrilyn, and others. The Writer's Digest Character Naming Sourcebook. Cincinatti: Writer's Digest Books. 1994.
> 
> Stern, David H., trans. The Jewish New Testament. Jerusalem: Jewish New Testament Publications. 1989.


End file.
